Family by Blood, Family by Shame
by Suzukata
Summary: Five years ago, the world was flipped upside down and shattered. Now, all that was done wrong will be set right. No matter what that takes.


**Title: **Family by Blood, Family by Shame

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairing/Characters/s: **past Sasori/Deidara, Kisame/Itachi

**Word Count: **

**Warning/s: **This is kind of twisted in my mind, but hey. Your call. People are dead, dying, and being killed in this one.

**Summary: **Five years ago, the world was flipped upside down and shattered. Now, all that was done wrong will be set right. No matter what that takes.

**Dedication: **To Naa-chan, who squeals with me about Deidara when I'm feeling up, hates Sakura with me when I'm not, and agrees that not knowing who Deidara is should be considered akin to blasphemy.

**A/N: **Um. Die-hard Sasori/Deidara fangirl here. I didn't like Sakura before, and now she's gone and killed off Sasori.

NO. BAD SAKURA. VERY BAD.

This is . . . um. My version of revenge? Shutting up now. Please read.

* * *

It was Kisame who carried Deidara all the way back to the room that he shared with Itachi; Deidara's old room would still remind the one-armed, handless missing nin of his newly-dead partner, with whom he had shared the room, along with his art, his smiles, his love, and everything else in his blood-stained life.

Kisame told the rest of the Akatsuki what had happened, then sent them all away after putting Deidara in his bed, only letting Itachi set foot inside the room so that he could help the wailing, broken blonde.

Kisame made the tea, laced with sedatives, so that Deidara would stop shaking and crying in that disturbingly un-Deidara-ish way, so that he would stop looking so hopelessly broken and vulnerable and _sad_.

_ why is there-_

It was Itachi who held Deidara in his slender arms while he waited for Kisame to come back with the tea for the shaking ninja; Kisame's hands weren't gentle unless he really tried, they were killing hands and there was plenty of good in that, but gentle hands and kindness were what the blonde needed most while he was so heartbroken.

Itachi whispered soothing words and crooned tender lullabies into Deidara's ear, only pausing to listen to the other choke out a broken sentence about his danna, or how he was so confused.

Itachi told him stories from his own childhood, lined with gentle lies and soft promises, so that Deidara would calm down and start breathing properly again.

_ where is-_

It was Sakura who lit incense for Chiyo-obaasama with freshly-healed, shaking hands; she wanted to thank this woman, who had gotten Gaara back for them, who had killed Sasori when he tried to kill Sakura, and who had given her life for the pink kunochi.

Sakura sat before the picture, the incense, the offerings, and she wept for hours, trying to get the image of that fragile, childish looking man, his puppet parents' arms wrapped around him in a mockery of a hug, and the faint smile across his blood spattered face.

Sakura wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, trying to forget the heart-wrenching screams of the blonde, the screams that all the world had probably been able to hear when he'd found his partner's body; tried to forget the reckless sobbing and tried to remember that these were murderers, but all she could hear was 'Sasori-danna!' and all she could see was that smile.

_ how could-_

It was Naruto who held Sakura tightly in her room, the night after she killed her first man; she knew he would understand, in some small way, and would say never anything to her as she sobs.

Naruto told everyone who asked that she was fine, that she was just a little tired and needed some time alone, keeping them all from seeing her shameful tears and trembling hands.

Naruto understood and forgave and accepted, all without ever saying a single word, remembering Haku and Zabuza and the way that he and Sasuke had stood before their grave for hours together, neither one saying a word, before Sasuke put a single flower on Haku's grave, and then collapsed into Naruto's arms, both of them sobbing as they held onto each other, as if they were afraid that the world might end if they let go.

_ what has he-_

That was five years ago.

_ no-_

It is only fitting, that now, Kisame is the one who carries Deidara's enemy to him; the old bitch is dead, and it's only the pink bitch, the one that the old bitch died to save, left to kill before the blonde's revenge is complete. He holds her like a bride, her arms tied up in front of her, her screams long since silenced by the gag and hours of walking.

He could have let Itachi do this, or even lured her to them, but somehow, this seems right. There is no doubt in his mind that this is the way that it should be.

Kisame talks to her, chatty and at ease and almost friendly, but his stories wound her, he can tell; they are all about a blonde boy and a redhead who fall in love and vow to never, ever let go, but the redhead is dragged away by two stupid women who can never, ever understand, leaving the blonde boy alone and broken beyond repair.

Kisame cackles softly to himself when she begins to sob brokenly.

_ my God he's-_

It is Itachi who stands next to Deidara, one arm wrapped around the smaller boy's shoulders, watching as Kisame comes closer and closer with the girl, Sakura.

He squeezes lightly, whispering words of reassurance into the blonde's ear, before releasing him, moving slowly and steadily behind him as they walk towards the last person alive who was part of _that_ _day_.

Itachi holds Deidara tightly when he starts shaking; wringing his hands together like he always does when he is nervous, because the new hands and arm are much more sensitive than the older ones, and the pain that wringing them causes reminds the blonde of Sasori, or so he says.

Itachi smiles softly to himself when Deidara's eyes harden into narrowed slits at the sight of her.

_ I'll kill them I'll-_

It is only fitting, Sakura knows, that it is her turn to writhe in agony, her out-stretched hands pinned to the dirt with kunai, her own blood staining her hair and skin a brilliant red.

Sakura winces sharply when Deidara's hands move into a swift jutsu; just before it hits her, he hisses, "He was _my danna_, un," and then the world goes black for a moment, before fading back into color.

When Sakura sees where she is, she wishes that he had just kept torturing her, because this is torture in its own way, and a hundred thousand times more painful. But she has to watch them, their memories, all the precious moments and angry fights and nights of passion and long, blood-soaked battles that end in joy for both of them.

Sakura watches as the-she-who-was kills Sasori, and she can feel the blonde's heart breaking: her throat is raw and bloody from screaming.

_ how dare they-_

It is Naruto who finds her body, lying sprawled on her back in the woods, her legs bent awkwardly and her blood painting her dead-pale cheeks a vibrant red. Hours have passed since her actual death, but the horror in her eyes is just as fresh now as it was then.

He exhales harshly as he stares, but no scream passes over his lips; he is a shinobi, and he must be on his guard. The killers might still be hiding in the shadows, waiting.

When Naruto realizes that they are gone, really, truly gone, and that he is alone, really, truly alone now that Sakura is dead, the scream is almost impossible to hold back. But he manages. He has to.

Naruto brings Sakura's body home and doesn't say a single word.

_ should suffer like-_

The world is set right again, and Deidara smiles as he tugs a little on the puppet-bomb's strings. Distractions have finally been removed.

They have a world to steal, after all.

* * *

YES! GO DEIDARA! KILL THAT - um. Oh.

Yeah . . . this was probably a little bit _too_ easy to write, ya'know?

And coming up with Sakura's punishment? Not very hard. Hm. Maybe that's some kind of sign . . .

Oh well! I'm just shoving out fic after fic, luvs!

Review please, or my life shall have no purpose.

- Suzu


End file.
